Before the Fall
by valiasedai
Summary: Morrigan is ready for her triumphant moment - the night she saves the Grey Wardens in Fereldan. But all is not as she has dreamed.


Morrigan smiled to herself as she watched the Warden leave the room to find Alistair. She really hadn't been certain if her offer would be accepted, and while it hadn't been met with excitement, she had seen the relief that had washed through the Warden's eyes. Morrigan opened a small satchel slung over her shoulder and rummaged around, taking out various ingredients needed for the spell. It was not as though she preferred to deal in potions – in her opinion, the use of potions in magic were poor substitutes for actual talent – but for this particular ritual they would provide a heightened connection with the Fade. She'd been with enough men to know her usually firm control over her magic slipped in the throes of sex, even when it wasn't_physically_stimulating. There was something about the raw act of taking another that suited her desire for power, and the potential physical pleasure was simply a pleasing addition when the man was capable. Whatever her lack of social ability, her looks had always been more than sufficient to draw men in when she wished a warm bed. A look here, a touch there, a whispered word, and they all fell into her bed, each one of them completely ignorant of the power she wielded, all of them seeing nothing but round breasts, full hips, and smooth, pale skin they couldn't help touching.

As she finished mixing the jumble of lyrium and various herbs, the sound of muffled voices brought Morrigan's attention back to the door. She made out a whispered confession of love and rolled her eyes. The Warden, by and large, was a practical woman, but it seemed Alistair had wormed his way into her heart. As far as Morrigan was concerned the man was attractive and a decent enough fighter, but there was nothing particularly special about him. The love he had for the Warden didn't matter – in the end he would perform, even if it shamed him – he was a man, after all.

The doorknob turned and that all-too-familiar head of blonde hair popped into the room, eyes nervous. Giving him a flat look, Morrigan motioned to the bed before turning back to the bowl. "Wait a moment, I must finish preparing."

She heard the bed creak a few moments later and smiled. It was too easy to guide him; he was so used to following around his lover and commander, and Morrigan almost wished for a challenge. Still, her offer had been accepted, and even though none but the three would know it, _Morrigan_would be directly responsible for the Blight ending without a Warden's death. And out of it all, she would get a child with the soul of one of the Old Gods, someone born with power beyond imagination, waiting to be shaped by _her_. The thought filled her with confidence, with pride, and with her mother dead and the Warden compliant, no one would be able to stop her.

Choking down the vile concoction, Morrigan forced herself to keep the mixture down. She could feel the lyrium inside her, the crushed spirit shard's effects snaking through her belly, the combination filling her with an immense sense of power. She was imbued with closer contact to the Fade, she could _feel_the spirits – and demons – that flicked along the razor's edge which separated this world and the next. Inhaling deeply, Morrigan let a smile curve her lips – her senses were heightened, every slight detail suddenly clear to her. She was ready.

Turning to Alistair, she began to undo the belt that held her skirt in place. "Well, undress. You're experienced enough to know clothes are _not_ required." His cheeks flushed red and he stood, turning from her as he began to remove his shirt. As the two of them worked their clothing in silence, Morrigan couldn't help appreciating the lines of Alistair's body. His musculature bespoke years of training and strength that came only from dedication and use of his skills. Scars marked his skin here and there, but they only added to the way his body seemed to belong more to a seasoned warrior than someone so young. _And so naïve_. He was seasoned, though, a little more than a year of almost daily battle and conflict had honed him into a weapon that was deadly and precise.

When the final scraps of clothing were on the floor, Alistair stayed where he was, shoulders rising and falling with his breath. His skin was flushed and Morrigan smiled. "Well, shall I wait all night?"  
He flinched at her words and slowly faced her. The look on his face made Morrigan's smile falter. Alistair looked as though he were facing his executioner, not his savior, and a quick glance between his legs confirmed this was not something he looked forward to. Taking a few steps towards Alistair, Morrigan lightly laid a hand on his shoulder. Unlike other men she'd been with, his eyes stayed focused on hers, unchanging, without a single glance at her bare body. Suppressing the urge to sigh, Morrigan reminded herself he was nothing but a man, and_all_men were easy prey. This one just needed more encouragement.

As she laid her lips against the junction of shoulder and neck, Morrigan felt Alistair stiffen, and not where it was needed. Setting to work she stroked and kissed, teased and coaxed, pressed her body against his, all things that would arouse any other man, but all her efforts did nothing. He was looking beyond her now, arms straight at his side, fists clenched so tightly she could see his knuckles beginning to turn white.

Pulling back to look at him, Morrigan felt her stomach clench. This creature before her wasn't a man like others she'd known. His will seemed stronger than his body, even when presented with the best of what she had to offer. Suppressing the urge to bite her lip, Morrigan cocked her head, trying to look confident. "Very well then, we shall do this differently. Lie on the bed."

Alistair's usually readable face was smooth, the only hint of emotion the obvious strain behind his eyes. He did as she told, lying out on the bed, eyes fixed firmly on the ceiling. Quashing the desire to call the whole thing off, Morrigan, found _herself_taking deep breaths in an attempt at calm.

_It isn't supposed to be like this._She had known this moment would come, and she'd been confident that in the end, Alistair's body would betray him, that he'd be unable to help himself when faced with a body such as hers. Now, faced with such a dramatically different reality, the taste in Morrigan's mouth was bitter. Love, that simpering, sickly sweet emotion she had so readily dismissed, had proven itself her better in manners of men.

Stepping towards the bed, Morrigan, gave Alistair the best smile she could muster, even though his eyes were still firmly fixed on the ceiling overhead. Her skin prickled despite the warmth in the room, apprehension threatening to overwhelm the slow, pulsing sensation wrought by the potion. She would make him perform, even if she had to pretend she was someone else.

With a final farewell to her vanity, Morrigan blew out the candle that lit the room so well, letting the darkness soothe away Alistair's apprehension. Whispered words of love, spoken in her best imitation of the Warden, finally drew a reaction, and it was only then the ritual could begin.

She worked her magic, chanting quietly, drawing on the magic inside her, all while her pride and vanity raged because she knew the responses she was drawing were not hers, but belonged to Alistair's memory of the woman that waited outside the door.

The cry of another woman's name on his lips, even as he moved _inside _her, sent a cold chill through Morrigan, and it was then that her humiliation was complete. Purpose completed, Alistair all but fled, leaving her alone with the black bitterness of rejection staining her dreams of triumph.

_And as the black clouds came upon them,__  
__They looked on what pride had wrought,__  
__And despaired.__  
__~Threnodies 7:10_


End file.
